


i get a little warm in my heart when i think of winter

by Lysippe



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff-A-Thon [24]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 07:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: Hecate quickly learned that, if her mother had been the first breath of spring, then Pippa was summer, bright and blazing and almost too much for the cold that sat in her bones all year round.Hecate, like her father, was the enduring, eternal winter.





	i get a little warm in my heart when i think of winter

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this one was written for the "winter myths/legends" prompt, but honestly I feel a bit like I cheated here, because obviously the myth of Demeter and Persephone isn't *strictly* a winter myth. It just pertains to winter. And this fic is really more just a lot of comparisons to various seasons anyway lol. But it was the only idea I had, so I ran with it, anyway. It's also wildly outside the realm of what I usually write, so I have strongly mixed feelings on this one, but you know. It's a thing.

As a child, Hecate always loved the myth of Demeter and Persephone. She had begged her mother to tell and re-tell the story, had memorized every detail, from Demeter’s hardened heart to her joy at the return of her daughter each spring. Her father, never one for fantasies and fairytales, had railed against this obsession with single-minded fervor. No daughter of his, he claimed, should have her head so far up in the clouds that she sought out every translation of the myth she could get her hands on. In the darkest, angriest parts of her mind, Hecate sometimes felt that she would be quite content not being a daughter of his.

To Hecate, her father was Hades, cold and distant and severe. Everything her mother, with her warm, gentle smile and quiet, calming words that so often felt like the only bit of softness in Hecate life, was not. 

Hecate, pale and serious, sometimes wished that she didn’t take after her father quite so much. 

As the years passed, and Hecate grew older, her obsession faded. Her preoccupation with fairytales became a preoccupation with knowledge, with strengthening and controlling and understanding her already frighteningly powerful magic. And when her mother passed away, alone and unexpectedly in the dead of winter, Hecate decided that it was time she let go of the story completely.

Demeter would always get Persephone back, but Hecate’s springtime was lost to her forever.

Without her mother’s warmth to shield her from her father’s icy disapproval, Hecate grew up, as her father wished, disciplined and fervently dedicated to the integrity and traditions of the Craft. And by the time she started her formal schooling, Hecate’s knowledge far surpassed that of her peers. She came first in her year in the entrance exams, breaking the school’s record with a perfect score. 

* * *

 

It was not during spring, but the searing heat of late summer, when Hecate first met Pippa Pentangle.

To Hecate, Pippa was nothing more than the girl who was perpetually nipping at her heels in every test, every practical demonstration, every project. The girl who knew almost as many answers in class at Hecate, but managed to do so without alienating the other girls in their year. Who greeted her with a sunny “Good morning!” every day in chanting that somehow seemed completely genuine. 

Still, when one late autumn evening, hunched over private study desk in the library, Hecate heard shuffling steps behind her, it never occurred to her that it might be Pippa, standing there with her spell science book clasped to her chest. 

“Can I help you with something?” There were only two reasons anyone ever spoke to Hecate: to make fun of her, or to grudgingly ask for assistance with their homework. Pippa was perhaps the only person for whom she assumed the latter.

“Have you done the homework for spell science yet?” Pippa looked a bit sheepish.

“I have.” 

“I can’t make heads or tails of tonight’s homework, and I feel quite silly for it, because I’m usually quite good in spell science, and--”

“You’re good in every subject.” The words were out of Hecate’s mouth without a thought, but it was true, at least as far as she knew. Pippa consistently managed to just edge her out in chanting, and come aggravatingly close behind Hecate in everything else.

“I work hard in every subject,” Pippa corrected her. 

Hecate considered telling Pippa that skill achieved through hard work was no less relevant than skill achieved through natural talent, but it occurred to her that Pippa probably thought that she was primarily in possession of the later, and thought better of it. “I suppose I could help you,” Hecate said slowly, carefully. As much as Pippa had never struck her as the sort to play mean tricks, Hecate had learned not to make such hasty judgments. “But not here. Miss Hedgewood gets rather testy when students make a rackett.” Though Hecate herself was always silent enough to avoid detection by the school’s librarian, she had seen her swoop down on unsuspecting students more times than she could count for giggling over a maglet message, or whispering the latest gossip when they should have been studying.

“We’ll go to my bedroom, then,” Pippa decided. “If now is okay, that is. I don’t want to interrupt your homework.”

Hecate shrugged. “I was just doing some extra research on potions theory. Nothing urgent.”

Pippa gave her an inscrutable look, and Hecate prepared herself for the inevitable questions about why anyone would do  _ extra  _ homework. Why she felt the need to know everything, do everything, always be the best. But instead, she broke out into a wide grin and said, “I love potions theory! It’s quite fascinating, don’t you think? You’ll have to tell me about your research later, perhaps we can work together.”

Hecate, too shocked to respond, just stood, packing her books back into her bag. 

“So, my bedroom, then?” Pippa said brightly, seeming completely unperturbed by Hecate’s silence. 

Hecate nodded, and followed. 

Hecate quickly learned that, if her mother had been the first breath of spring, then Pippa was summer, bright and blazing and almost too much for the cold that sat in her bones all year round.

Hecate, like her father, was the enduring, eternal winter.

But after that night, Pippa stuck to Hecate like glue, determined and unshakable. Curiously, she seemed far more interested in spending time with Hecate than with any of the other girls in their year. So much so, that Hecate began to worry that she was about to become the victim of an impressively extended, unusually cruel prank. But Pippa never seemed to mind that Hecate spent all her time studying, or that her life outside classes extended from her bedroom to the library and back again. She simply packed up her books and joined her. She did, on occasion, force Hecate into other activities -- practicing flying and going for long walks on the school grounds seemed to be her favorite -- but she was equally happy to accompany Hecate when she volunteered to spend her Saturdays foraging for basic potion necessities.

Hecate didn’t understand at all, but Pippa seemed perfectly content just spending time together, so Hecate tentatively shelved her concerns in the back of her mind.

Because, if she were being honest, Hecate quite enjoyed Pippa’s presence in her life.

It didn’t take long, though, for the whispers to start. Rumors and conspiracies and justifications for Pippa being entirely too generous, entirely too full of pity for the strange, sullen girl who never spoke to anyone else. They started behind Hecate’s back, at first, but quickly became harsh words hissed in her face. In between classes; in the corner of the library stacks; in the corridor where Hecate’s bedroom was. They were endemic to Hecate’s life at school, and they filled her with a sick sort of guilt at the thought that it might be true.

Pippa, of course, was adamant that they weren’t. That her time was her own to do with as she chose, and she chose to spend it with Hecate. 

She insisted it for years, to anyone who ever gave her any sort of trouble about the company she kept. Especially Hecate.

“I don’t know how many more ways I can tell you that I don’t care about those silly witches,” she would say, hands on her hips, her voice tinged with frustration. “I want to be with  _ you _ .”

But the older she got, the harder it became to believe Pippa. When all the other girls in their year started tittering about young wizards and love potions, and Pippa stayed steadfast at her side, the nagging thought she actually  _ was  _ holding Pippa back pressed itself into the forefront of her thoughts once again. That Pippa, who was genial and clever and got along with everyone, whose smile was bright and warm as the late summer sun, might lose a chance at real happiness all because of some misguided sense of loyalty to their friendship.

That it could never truly be Hecate who made her happy, no matter what Pippa thought.

After all, Demeter always lost Persephone in the end.

 

* * *

 

Pippa came into Hecate’s life the second time exactly the first: sunny as ever, but blazing with a new, different ferocity, a declaration of love that never faded, and the same summer smile that Hecate never quite believed was  _ actually  _ meant for her.

But Pippa was bound and determined as ever, and as much as Hecate had leaned into the rigid, icy traditionalism that her father had pushed so hard on her, Pippa had grown ever brighter, unyielding as the scorching summer sun, but still gentle as an August breeze.

Hecate felt now more than ever, that she could possibly not be more wrong for Pippa. She could feel the winter in her bones, that same indomitable coldness that had emanated from her father. That even her mother’s softness and warmth could never melt. She understood him better than she had ever wanted to, now. After all, her heart in its solitude also felt cold enough to freeze the world.

But Pippa, she learned, was not delicate like her mother had been. When Hecate pushed, Pippa pushed back, with the same force of will, until she wore Hecate down. With weekly games of chess and excursions to gather potions ingredients, and things she clearly remembered as being favorite activities of Hecate’s from long ago. Favorite activities for both of them. And eventually, Hecate finally gave in, and Pippa, with a weary, frustrated sigh, said, “You don’t have to love me back. I’m not asking that of you. I’m only asking you to accept that  _ I _ love  _ you _ . And if thirty years of hating you hasn’t changed that, then quite frankly, I think I may be past the point of no return.”

And it was with the barest crack of a smile, the first thaw after so many years of cold, dead winter, that Hecate said, “I believe that may be true. Fortunately for us both, I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr @ thebestdressedrebelinhistory


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